


Inktober 2017: Andrin Cadash

by CherryMilkshake



Series: I did not realize that you were a woman. - That is because I am not. [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Falling In Love, Nonbinary Character, Other, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 16:34:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12634896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CherryMilkshake/pseuds/CherryMilkshake
Summary: Tales of a dwarf for whom gender is a mystery and a Bull is a boyfriend.





	1. 23/ Wishes

**Author's Note:**

> A collection of the short things I wrote about [Andrin](http://cherrymilkshake.tumblr.com/post/167143436754/cherrymilkshake-ive-been-meaning-to-make-the-pc) for Inktober.
> 
> You can read them all in number order [here](http://cherrymilkshake.tumblr.com/tagged/writing-inktober-because-i-don%27t-actually-own-any-ink/chrono).

Food in their belly. Fine clothes on their back. A life of adventure, supported by hidden riches. Exciting sex. And most recently, a disarmingly intelligent, charming partner in crime, with solid, strong horns and a wicked smile. A person who looks at Andrin and sees _them_ , not what they can do for him. 

But they don't have to wish for that last one any longer; it's well within their grasp.


	2. 28/ Power

The first time Andrin entered the war room as the Herald of Andraste, they didn't know what to expect. Would they be giving an opinion, one vote of four? A rubber stamp of approval? Or even just an observer?

Instead, they found the humans _deferring_ , asking them, an ex-Carta smuggler with no leadership experience, genuinely what should be done. The power was… overwhelming in its headiness, but also in its pressure. Should things go sour, it was now their fault. 

Andrin had always been a cog in a machine. A dagger in the dark. A spy in the bedroom. They didn't know what to do with actual responsibility.

But that didn't mean they weren't going to fake it to their utmost ability.

"We received this letter from a Fereldan nobleman, a Lord Kildarn," Josephine explained, showing Andrin the vellum. This Kildarn was requesting that the Inquisition drive out some refugees attempting to settle on his lands. "Lord Kildarn is a pariah even among the Fereldan banns," she continued. "I recommend a polite refusal, especially considering how he seems to think that elves and mages cannot also be refugees in these difficult times." Her lips pinched.

"Why not court his favor even so?" Leliana suggested. "We have few allies in the Fereldan court. I could send some agents to relocate the refugees."

Josephine raised an eyebrow. "You are personal friends with the King, Leliana," she said.

With a lilting laugh, Leliana turned over one of her raven-shaped map pieces. "The King is not his court, Josie. Alistair himself is often harangued by them."

Cullen coughed. "We could send some patrols, but honestly, I'd rather they help the refugees, not the puffed-up bann in his manor."

And they looked to Andrin, who met Leliana's gaze. "It's probably better for the refugees to not be on his land anyway, given his attitude toward them," they said. "And we're not in a position to turn away any possible allies, unpleasant assholes or not."

Leliana chuckled. "Glad you and I see eye to eye on this," she said. 

Andrin raised an eyebrow. "Sister Nightingale, I do hope you weren't joking about my height just then."

She smiled. "Never, Your Worship." She set her map piece down on the Hinterlands. "Now, this next letter is from the Teyrn of Highever…" 


	3. 12/ Instrument

Cadash had often been called an instrument—a tool to be used. Though a tool with many uses. 

Cadash could be called upon to smuggle contraband; a friendly smile and a brandless face could open many doors. 

Cadash could be called upon to intimidate; pain was nothing to a person who'd endured abuse at the hands of flesh and blood, and there was nothing more terrifying than a grin while blood fell, unheeded, to the ground. 

Cadash could be called upon to seduce. People of all sorts were lovely to behold, from the fresh-faced heirs and heiresses to mighty fortunes, to the old and lonely widows and widowers. And Cadash knew best how to charm each one.

But Andrin had never been the one seduced, the one treasured. Bull's fingertips were rough but tender where they pressed into scarred, used flesh, finding beauty even there. Bull touched every bit of Andrin, marveling in every new discovery. 

Bull had said he wished to take the weight of Inquisition off Andrin's shoulders. Instead, he had taken the burden of a life wasted to the needs of others. "What do you want me to do to you?" Bull growled, grinning and dominating, yet gentle and calculating. 

Andrin grinned back, enjoying the game, letting bound wrists be pressed into the pillows behind them. "Bite me, Qunari."

Bull obliged.


	4. 5/ Fallen

_It's just sex._ A common refrain in Andrin's mind. But sometimes, the Bull makes it difficult. It's those quiet moments in the afterglow, when those big, scarred fingers are untying knots and smoothing balm over fresh marks, glowing with heat and the remembrance of touch. Those in-between times when the sex is finished, but hearts are still beating fast and bodies are still flushed; when the Bull's eye is fixed on Andrin's, pupil still wide with exertion and excitement, the eye patch still sitting on the nightstand of Andrin's bed, scars flickering the muted firelight of the evening.

 _It's just sex,_ Andrin repeats, as their lips come together again even after the sex is finished, dicks limp and spent, limbs soft and loose. Even the Bull is relaxed, a quiet half-smile on his face as he pulls away from Andrin's lips to nose downward, sucking a mark into the junction of neck and shoulder. 

"Kadan," Bull breathes against the orange-red hair of Andrin's chest, and though the word is unknown, the _feeling_ settles heavily in the room. Their gazes meet and they kiss again, no more words spoken. 


	5. 30/ Secret

After Bianca locked up the mines, she split off from the Inquisition's group, making her own way home. She and Varric didn't speak. 

Andrin looked between her retreating back and Varric's melancholy expression in the light of the campfire and decided to say nothing. They did offer Varric some whiskey from their flask however, which was taken with a grateful half-smile.

When they arrived back in Skyhold and Andrin had gone to the usual debriefing meeting with their advisors, they found Varric brooding again, his desk covered in half-crumpled papers. They poured some whiskey into the empty mug on the desk and placed it in Varric's hands. He laughed. "I don't know if you're trying to make me feel better or just get me drunk."

"It can be both," Andrin said with a grin. "But if you wanna actually talk about it, I have time."

Varric considered them for a moment, then knocked back the mug. "Sure," he said. "Why not? Let's take a walk, Inquisitor."

They climbed up onto the battlements, where the wind was cool and crisp, and the din of people in the entrance hall faded to silence. "She was right," Varric said, his eyes on a distant wisp of cloud. "I don't deal with things, least of all things with her."

"What's the history there?" Andrin asked. 

Varric shrugged. "We met while we both lived in Kirkwall. I was looking for a smith; she's the _best_ damn smith the world has to offer. We hit it off. Her family is Kalnas, so…"

"Well, shit," Andrin said, pulling a face. "Smith caste, I'm guessing. What's Tethras?"

"You don't know the story?" Varric seemed genuinely shocked.

"Nope. My family's been surfacers for years. We don't keep up with the drama unless it affects us directly. Or it's really juicy."

"Then you've heard about the guy fixing Provings, 'bout forty-five years ago?"

Andrin's eyes widened. "Oh _shit_ , that was Tethras?! Even my mother heard about that."

"Yep. Whole family had to pack up and escape to the surface. We ended up in Kirkwall, where I was born." 

Andrin offered the flask, which Varric took with a smile. "So," Andrin began, after Varric gave it back, "why does the Merchant Guild want you and Bianca not to meet exactly?"

"Well, her family picked out a nice Smith caste boy and… Well, long story short, there was almost a clan war. My brother was not thrilled. So now we're not supposed to be within 3000 leagues of each other."

Andrin whistled. "That's a long ways. Is she worth it?"

Varric sighed and leaned against the wall, looking out over the people milling around Skyhold. "Sometimes I wonder," he said quietly. "Sometimes I wonder."


	6. 15/ Intimacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: This one is in 2nd person because I am Homestuck trash and also was too tired to play pronoun games.

Iron Bull is rubbing small circles against your back. The pads of his fingertips are rough with calluses and scars, but the pressure is welcome after a solid hour of your arms being pinned over your head, fixed to the headboard with silken ropes. (You'd laughed when you saw them, teased that Bull could hardly call silk a punishment. You'd been proven [wonderfully] wrong.)

The winter night is quiet. The crackle of the fire and the distant howl of the wind the backdrop to the sound of both of your breathing. Bull's breaths are so soft, you feel them more than you hear them, ticking the baby hairs at the top of your nape. 

Eventually, his hands stop their slow circles and the bed shifts beneath you as he leans in and presses his lips against the skin of your neck. You can feel the smile on his face, and it makes you smile too. You comb your fingers through your long, red hair, trying to make sure he doesn't get any into his mouth by accident. 

However, you hear him chuckle, and you turn to watch him stick out his tongue, unwinding a shining hair from around it. "You're a hazard, kadan," he says, sticking it to your shoulder. 

You raise an eyebrow. "Should I cut it then?" you ask.

Bull wraps his arms around your torso, pulling you against his chest. He tilts his head to rest it against you. "Of course not. I couldn't deny you the vanity of your hair."

You both chuckle, settling into the warmth and weight of each other. There's a comfort and familiarity in it now, after months of your… liaisons. You don't want to give it a name yet, for fear of frightening it away. 

But there is a warm mouth against the skin behind your ear, and a hand spread wide across your belly, holding you protectively and possessively. Words don't suit a space like this, so you let them fall away, unspoken, to be picked up and addressed some other day. 


	7. 17/ Jubilant

The ruins of the Temple of Sacred Ashes collapsed to the ground, narrowly missing some soldiers still scrambling out of the way. Andrin shook their hand absently, still feeling the echoes of electricity that accompanied using the Anchor. 

But soon all they could feel was the strong arms of Bull, hooking around their armpits and hoisting them into the air from behind, and a flurry of kisses on their face. "Damn fine work, Kadan!" Bull crowed, squeezing them around the middle. "The look on that asshole's face after his god didn't answer and then the orb broke his fucking jaw! _Beautiful!_ And 'I don't believe in gods'. Shit, gave me me chills, Kadan." 

Andrin laughed and flopped against Bull's grip, lolling their head back to rest on his shoulder. "And you got the final blow against that dragon," they said.

"Damn straight I did. I was almost disappointed. That one in the Wastes was stronger."

Andrin nodded. "Yeah, she was. This one wasn't boring though. More than I could say for the one in Crestwood."

"Yeah, that one almost felt unfair." Bull set Andrin back on their feet. "Do you remember that gauntlet of them in the Emprise though?" He grinned.

Andrin rolled their eyes and started walking back to Skyhold. "Yeah, I slept for like two days after that."

"It was _great_ ," Bull exclaimed, starry-eyed.

Andrin laughed and wrapped their arms around Bull's waist. "I can't believe it's finally fucking over." They looked up at Bull, a mischievous smirk starting to grow on their face. "Wanna drink Skyhold dry?"

Bull howled with laughter. "Damn straight I do, Kadan."

"I better be invited to this party!" Sera chimed in, jumping into the conversation, her hand on Andrin's shoulder.

"The more the merrier!" Andrin cried and looked back at the soldiers walking behind them. "Drinks are on me tonight, folks! Let's drink the fortress dry!"

The subsequent cheers echoed through the valley, bouncing around them like a hundred armies, and for the first time they could remember, Andrin was jubilant. 


	8. 18/ Waiting

As the tails of Andrin's coat vanish through the silvery surface of the mirror, it abruptly goes black. 

Bull stands in front of it, hand still raised to guide himself through. It falls against the surface, hitting solid glass. His mind whirls. His heartbeat picks up and echoes in his ears. 

He turns to Vivienne. "Ma'am, can you get this open?" he asks, the calm of a commander in the heat of battle pressing into his chest, squeezing his heart tight but keeping his voice steady. 

Her lips twist, her grip tightening on her staff. She is battleworn and sweaty, her boots muddy. "Perhaps," she says, not one to sell herself short on skill. "But not before we… run out of time."

_The mark crackles as light races over Andrin's neck and face. "Get back!!" they yell, and Bull ignores them, pushing forward to hold them tightly._

_Before he can touch them, the explosion knocks him back and he has to dig his axe hilt into the ground to keep his feet._

_Andrin looks at him, and for the first time, Bull sees naked fear in their eyes._

It's Varric who touches him first, a gentle hand on Bull's forearm. He's smacked away on instinct, and Bull breathes. Blood rushes through his body and he marks its passage, counting the hummingbird flaps of his heartbeat. He breathes.

"Iron Bull, dear, you should sit," Vivienne says. 

He doesn't. He grounds his axe, steadies his hands, and breathes. He watches the black mirror. 

_"Bull, if I don't come back—"_

_"Don't you dare. You're coming back, Kadan, even if I have to kill every single person and monster beyond that mirror to do it."_

_Their smile is brittle, but grateful. "I love you, Bull."_

_His heart tightens in his chest, holding back an emotion he cannot name, for fear of falling apart. "I love you, too, Kadan."_

 

The three of them stand in silence for a long time. It's Varric who speaks first. "If he doesn't come back—"

"He will," Bull cuts in, gritting his teeth before resuming his silent counting.

"—in ten minutes, let me finish please—I'm going to go back for help. Maybe the kid can help get this open?"

Vivienne scoffs. "You would entrust something this important to the _demon_?" she asks.

"I don't see you offering any bright ideas of your own, Iron Lady." 

Bull lets their bickering fade into the background. He breathes and doesn't think. If he thinks, he worries what will happen. He can feel anger and hurt coursing through him with every throb of his heart, every inch of blood that passes his ears. If he lets it go, he doesn't know what will happen. He pictures Vivienne and Varric's corpses, a bloodlust of grief unsated by their deaths. He pictures annihilation, and breathes. 

"Okay, I'm going back to the Palace," Varric says. "At the very least, we should let Ruffles kno—" His voice stutters to a halt and Bull has already dropped his axe to kneel before the open mirror, guiding a half-collapsed Andrin through before it closes again.

Andrin is pale and shaking, their arm a snarl of crackling magic, but they're alive. Their hair is loose from its bun, falling in limp strings over their face and neck. "It hurts," they whimper, and Bull feels a new emotion filling his throat. "Bull… Bull, i-it hurts." Fat tears leak from green eyes. "Katoh, Bull. Katoh. I can't…"

Bull scoops them into their arms, curling them to his chest. He sees Vivienne approach, wielding a vial. "Drink, Inquisitor. It will help," she says. 

They drink and for a moment, there's no change, but soon they collapse against Bull, dead weight. He takes a deep breath, staring at Vivienne with an anger that threatens to overcome his barriers. 

"A sleeping draught," she explains. "His arm is… returning to the Fade it seems. Better for him not to feel it."

Bull nods and touches his lips to Andrin's forehead. "Let's get him back," he says in a rough voice. It hurts coming out. "We've waited long enough." 


	9. 31/ Final

Andrin died wearing the name of Andi, at a small tavern in Rivain. Bull had died some years before, killed while fighting a dragon. Andrin had never quite been able to deny that it was Bull's ideal death. It kept a lot of the sadness at bay.

The title of Inquisitor had been left behind years and years prior. Thick, shining red hair had whitened and thinned, now kept in a long braid, wrapped around their head like a crown. Hazel-green eyes had clouded and greyed almost as much as their hair. Peachy-firm skin had sagged and wrinkled and blotched, but Andrin still insisted on cosmetics, even with the shaking of their hands. 

"Andi" kept a page, a young woman named Sybil, who mainly read them documents and carried their things. She was there, reading a book, and waiting to be asked to fetch food or drink from the tavern below. 

Andrin didn't know what they were sick with. Their limbs shook so much that it was now impossible to walk unassisted, and food now tasted mostly like sand, unless it was strongly seasoned. (It was in part why they had come Rivain.)

Talking now was difficult—tongue and lips no longer quite moving to their will. It was as if their body was becoming a prison. Perhaps it was time to break out. 

They opened their eyes and Cole was there, unaged, still wearing his odd helmet-hat. "You want to escape," he said softly. "I can help."

Andrin chuckled, and Sybil looked at them. "Help?" they breathed, forcing their lips to make the word. 

"Help," Cole confirmed, and smiled. "I can help. I will help. The Bull asked me."

"Mm," Andrin said skeptically. "Dead."

"He asked me before. 'If Boss needs you to do something, you do it.' I'll do it."

"Ser Andi? Do you need anything?" Sybil asked, setting aside her book and walking over to rest a hand on Andrin's forehead.

"Ti...red…" Andrin whispered, closing their eyes.

"I know," Sybil and Cole said at the same time.

"I can help," Cole said.

Whatever Cole did, there wasn't any pain. One moment, Andrin was there, trapped and tired, and the next, _they were free_. 


End file.
